


Find Me At My Lowest Point

by slater (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 4times!fic, Alcohol Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, alcohol use, no haroline, stupid boys are stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/slater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn always comes back.<br/>and harry always lets him.<br/>until he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Me At My Lowest Point

**Author's Note:**

> this is my four times fic. i suggest while reading this fic you listen to  
> slip into your skin-patrick watson  
> first love- adele  
> love-daughter  
> stay-rihanna  
> bones-lewis watson  
> hot like fire- the xx  
> and  
> azealia banks- slow hands.  
> just putting that out there.

  
  


short days and dark nights have been happening for a while. harry doesn't mind it so much, and maybe that's the only reason zayn continues it. it's not the feel of the alcohol staining his bloodstream or the smoke filling his lungs that he chases, it's the comfort of harry's arms when he thinks that zayn's hopeless. he doesn't get it sober, when he's stable. all he gets is a vulnerable green-eyed lad, looking at him as if without him the sun refuses to shine.

problem is he can't handle that anymore. problem is he can't handle not having harry.

so he compromises.

i.

harry knows he's there. knows that the loud banging isn't coming from the faulty heater placed in the kitchen.

“harry? harry please!” is the low cry, it's desperate and it's breaking down walls that harry put up. _i won't answer_ he tells himself hoping that the message somehow gets to zayn. another five,ten, fifteen seconds pass and it's edging on unbearable. hearing the tiredness ring through the flat, surely disturbing the rest of the floor. if you ask harry that's the reason he opens the door. it's not because his resolve has cracked once again, or because turning a cheek from zayn is impossible. he was simply taking in the necessities of others.

the walk from the bed to the front door is too quick and zayn's lips are too rough on his. his breath smells like cheap vodka and the cigarettes he keeps in his pocket even though harry begs him to stop.

“i'm sorry harry. i'm so sorry.” he breathes out between their mouths and he seems a bit less than apologetic but harry doesn't push it.

“i know babe. i know you are.” they break away with too much effort from harry and too little resistance from zayn.

then he cries. he cries hard and relentless and he doesn't want to stop. his long eyelashes are matted and his short black hair has had a hurricane run through it.

“zayn stop. stop please, come on lets put you to bed.” his legs are too weak to move, he says so harry carries him to the bedroom. soft, sweaty hand clinging to his neck as he walks. he hears zayn's pleas of _don't be angry, i love you_ and _i just want you to hold me sometimes, just hold me, yeah?_

harry doesn't have the heart to reply. the bed billows under the weight of the two of them and neither of them care enough to strip zayn of his kit. sleep catches the older one quickly and harry notices that the sun will rise soon. he can't bring himself to care, not when _he_ is here, with him voluntarily. harry hates how he has to get him, hates how the only way zayn will just _calm down_ is when he doesn't even have a clue besides _liquor and more liquor_ and just _more more more_ then there's nothing but anguish.

but at least he came back.

  
  


ii.

the next time it happens, harry's ready and willing. he's seen it from the start and he just knows he's in for it all tonight. zayn's band is playing tonight, they sound absolutely amazing and harry is taken aback at the fact that this is his. it's a medley that zayn's spent at least three months on. mixing and erasing, mixing and erasing, _getting drunk_ , take a breath, spin this word around, _harry i just..i can't help me please,_ quit, mix, erase. and now it sounds perfect. the once hyper-active crowd has now grown around one another, bodies forming in a soft petal flower, one only zayn's voice can grow.

_everybody needs somebody,_

_to hold them down_

_when your feet are leaving the ground_

the venue is enticed. the stretch of notes falling over each one like a strange, new rain. but zayn's just like that. he can make you feel as if you've experienced a thousand things when he's only just explained what he'd like to have after a biscuit in the morning. his neck stretched in an elegant line as he transfers to the next step of music. the mix should have ended now, harry knows, but he can't bring himself to care as doe-eyes find his and graceful words leap towards him. it's a bit faster now, but no less beautiful.

  
  


_it's not just something you take it's given_

_round and around and around we go_

_now tell me now you know_

_something in the way you move_

_can't live without you, takes me all the way_

_i want you to stay_

_want you to stay_

  
  


it's love harry thinks. nothing else could make him feel this way. the burning pain in his chest is welcome as is the lump in his throat, and the grin on his face that almost hurts.

“alright everyone, that's the end of our set. thanks for listening. we are the night thieves, now go get pissed!”

zayn hops off the stage lightly and strolls away from his bandmates towards harry. zayn's smell is comforting and harry hopes he'll want to go home, instead of allowing alcohol to taint it.

“you were great babe! the medley was wonderful, really.”

zayn's face lights up, harry's approval being the one thing he was waiting for. it's a sickness almost. zayn'll do almost anything to make harry smile a tad. he'll sometimes wake up at five o'clock and head over to harry's flat to tidy up because he knows that he'll be too tired when he wakes up(well he used to, before harry changed the locks), or leave good morning letters under his door right after 12 a.m because he knows that's when harry's shift is over, or come over sober-like and sing harry half way to sleep in the tub. he'll do so much for harry(except stop that one thing, that's not even really a thing, the one that makes harry cry himself to sleep some nights, but zayn just puts that up to sacrifice in a relationship.)

“you liked it? thanks harry! i worked forever on it you know?”

“of course i know! and it payed off. everyone loved it.”

“well i don't know about everybody but--”

“enough zayn.” he replies with a laugh, the high from just _watching_ zayn not yet fizzing away. “let's go home. celebrate and such.”he taps his fingertips on zayn's hips, looking down, hoping to get his point across. he looks up with hooded eyes attempting to seduce, only to find zayn's attention on louis who's sitting at the bar.

“uh, yeah babe. later, drinks on liam tonight.”

“no.” harry grabs his wrist before he can walk away. “my flat. please zayn.” it's not really the intimacy that he hinted at early that's driving harry away from the pub, that's not what he wants. what he wants isn't even important right now. it's what he doesn't want. he doesn't want an unsteady zayn hopping in a cab, banging on his door, screaming how much he wants to come in. or worse harry doesn't want to cave and let him in, only to have zayn trash the living room, then scream at kitchen knives asking harry how he can even stand him, saying that he ought to just top himself, about how it'd be better for everyone. harry doesn't want zayn to beg him to undress afterwards, he doesn't want to have to say no over and over again with fear of what zayn could but would never do in his drunken stupor. he doesn't want to wake up to a warm bed and a beautiful zayn, who's only going to remember what he thinks is in his own favor. harry doesn't want any of that.

  
  


“i'll come by later, yeah?” zayn still won't look at him, line of sight on a turquoise liquid that he knows makes his head spin too fast and his heard pound too hard.

he can't _wait_ to have it. if only harry would---

“i won't answer the door.” harry says letting zayn's wrist slip away, daring yet hesitant.

“kay, thanks babe. love ya.” the older boy walks away, smacking liam on the back once he reaches him.

harry stops watching zayn's elbow bend and leaves when zayn's tongue finds a blonde girls throat.

***

harry doesn't bother going to sleep. he'd really rather not have his first newly waking thought be about calming his off-the-rocker boyfriend at two a.m. friend, he means. person-who-he's-in-love-with-that only-visits-when-he-needs-a-shag-or-a place-to-sleep-because-he-can't-find-his-flat-key.

yeah, that's what he means.

  
  


the knocks on the weak wood lasts barely five seconds before harry's opening the door and zayn's falling in his chest, boneless. his mouth is hot through his thin t-shirt. harry barely has time to close the door before zayn's mouth is on his throat. he tries hard to hide his face, but harry can tell something is wrong.

“zayn, zayn babe what happened?” he picks his face up to present a black eye and purple-yellow bruises forming on his left cheek.

“she had a boyfriend, huh?” harry tries to joke, but the shake in his voice is evident. zayn at least has the decency to look ashamed as he nods.

“let's go to my room, okay? we'll get you cleaned up.” harry doesn't wait to a response as he drags zayn and sits him to bed. he goes off to the bathroom for ointment for his bruising and black eye, painkillers and some water. when he makes it back, zayn looks less than happy.

“you okay, hon?”

zayn's voice is cold as he speaks. “don't call me that harry.” he twiddles his thumbs in his lap, concentrating on the rub.”why'd you do this haz? stop being so weak all the time.”

harry steps closer, words not sticking to tough skin. he brings ointment on a gauze up to the black-haired boy's face. he's really happy that blonde streak is gone. “zayn, don't.”

“i could hit you right now.” his reply is quick and sharp, malice painting every word. “i could drag you across this building by your fucking hair and you'd still let me in here. fucking idiot.”

harry's face breaks, eyes watering at the truth in zayn's words. “is that what you want?”

the other boy lets out a frustrated sigh and turns his body to face harry. he bites his nails into harry's red sweatpants, right above his knee, gauging his reaction. nothing happens. harry just takes it, he'll take anything zayn gives him. no matter how painful or tiresome, he'll take it gladly.

“no. no but i could. and that's not okay harry.”

harry doesn't say anything for a while, just stares into honey colored eyes, that have been hazed with tequila. he lets silence blend with everlasting fight of hatred against love against love of something that wouldn't love back even if it could. _homewrecker._ harry thinks.

“let's get you out of these clothes,” he finally says, “and go to bed, yeah? take a shower in the morning.”

zayn doesn't reply, but he lets the sticky ointment on fuzzy paper be stuck to his face and allows harry to strip him of inexpensive clothes carefully, as to not hit any other hidden bruises that decorate his tanned skin. the only time he does say anything is when harry pulls the covers up to their chins, hoping the duvet will protect them from unwanted thoughts and sudden temptations.

“i'm sorry, harry.”

“i know. go to sleep babe. it'll be alright.”

zayn's voice is barely above a whisper and it's thick with sleep and tears that threaten to fall. harry can barely manage to hear him over the blood rushing in his ears, the mere feel of zayn in his arms overwhelming. circumstance won't change that.

“s'just. i need you sometimes haz. this is the only way though. the only way you want me by myself. i'm sorry that. that sometimes i'm not enough. and that sometimes is always with me.”

harry says nothing. he squeezes zayn in strong arms, letting him know that _i hear you, but not now. not when you don't realize._ he wishes he could talk to zayn like this, express feelings without tension or the fear of showing a tragic flaw. and hell he can right now, but zayn would just deny it. he'll say that harry's just making things up, that he wasn't even drunk( _i'm sure that is something i would remember harry_ ), and harry can't handle that. so he snuggles into zayn's back and lays his face into zayn's neck. breathing in a foreign scent over a natural one, but he can't bring himself to care.

not when he's back. as hard as it is to accept that zayn will never really be his, and that he'll never really be _here_ , he did come back.

at least he came back.

  
  


iii.

the third time is unexpected and harry feel stupid because it happened right in front of him. it's early midday and company that was expected at the last minute canceled, so harry and zayn make the most of it. they both lay on the couch half-way dressed , watching as doctor who re-runs flicker on the tell. breakfast was skipped by the both of them, but zayn opted for a tall glass of orange juice. the room is cold, like zayn likes, and the couch is too harsh on the bare skin of harry's back as he lays at the opposite end of the couch.

harry thinks he could stay here forever. he crawls up zayn's body, resting his head on his collarbone. a soft beat of _thump, t-thump_ coming from his heart is peaceful to say the least and the faint smell of soap and cigarettes has harry's eyes fluttering closed. he starts soft kisses on zayn's neck up to his defined jaw. one two three light pecks to his mouth and a slow grind of the younger boys hips suggest the attention of unfazed lover.

  
  


“zayn?” harry whispers, for a sound too loud will break the artificial barrier protecting one way love.

“yeah?” zayn says back, voice just as low. he looks down at harry when he doesn't respond within a few seconds and harry's looking right back, making _that_ face. the one that lets zayn have a small glimpse of how he looks through harry's eyes, lets him know just how high the pedestal harry has him on is. it's a look that begs for solace that zayn can't give.

“you're my foothold. you probably don't believe that, but you are.” harry says with a smile. it's naive and young and everything zayn should be able to handle but he can't.

he stumbles and stutters over the words, “t-thanks, you. um. that's..wow harry”, but harry's okay with it. zayn can do wrong in his eyes it seems(but that never lasts long).

he lifts his head off zayn's chest, eyes flickering to zayn's mouth for permission, but dives in before it's given. harry strives for gentle and zayn struggles in his search for defiance. harry's mouth is soft and determined _don't go_ it says _please stay, be right._ zayn finally relaxes a bit more into the kiss, trying his hardest not to breathe out and ward off harry's insistent tongue. harry backs off, confusion clear on his features.

“what's wrong?” he asks, eyes big and lips almost swollen from doing most of the work.

zayn just shrugs and sips from his cup again, head once again turned towards the tv.

“no zayn, what'sa matter?” he doesn't answer, continuing his gulps. and that's when harry gets it.

“come off it.” harry says fast. he forcefully takes the cup from zayn's hand, miraculously without spilling anything over. “what's in this?” his voice has risen, false barrier forgotten as betrayal forces it down.

“it's just juice mate. don't be upset.” he reaches his hand forward towards the drink harry holds, who's now straddling his stomach.

“doesn't smell like 'just juice', zayn.”

“s'cause it's from brazil or some shit. i don't know, give it back.”

harry's hand clenches the glass a bit tighter, willing it and all the other problems it creates to give way. “it's twelve o'clock. in the afternoon.”

“so juice isn't allowed?” zayn bites back, irritated.

“with vodka mixed in it, no.” harry swiftly moves from the couch, walking in the kitchen to the sink.

“harry...”zayn whines when he comes to find harry's right arm over the sink, pouring out the remaining liquid. “i'm not even drunk! small buzz, if that i mean.”

“but why zayn?” harry's back is turned to him, elbows resting on the counter top.

“why what?”

“why do you need it? i just don't understand why you need that, even when it's just us two. why aren't i enough?” his tone isn't cold or shaky. words flowed out as if he'd simply asked the weather, or asked which color goes well with yellow( and zayn would tell him purple just to be a dick).

zayn walks behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and tucking his head in the crook of harry's neck. “but you are though. you know that. let's ...let's go to your room, let me make it up to you.”

harry spins around so fast, zayn nearly loses his balance.

“no! you can't do that!” his green eyes are polished with unshed tears. “a shag doesn't fix everything, zayn. i actually want to talk to you, more often that not.” his voice level is low, and zayn can't help but think it isn't purposeful.

“i don't harry.”

“then why are you here.” harry chokes out, cheeks wet now. it isn't a question and they both know realize it the second it tumbles from his throat.

“is that a request then, yeah?” zayn answers back anyway,voice now cold and demanding. a side harry's all too familiar with. “cause i can leave. but i swear to god i won't come back.”

fire with fire.

zayn might not mean it, harry knows that. but he's also well aware that he very well could and harry's had a hard time imagining no zayn without tearing up. a violent, temperamental, non-cooperative zayn is somehow better than an non existent zayn.

no... no, stay.” harry lets out, a bit hesitant in his answer. zayn notices.

“you don't mean that do you?” his eyes narrow, and it sounds as though the six words were punched out of him by how breathy it comes out. zayn starts towards the door and harry manages to grab his elbow before he can get too far.

“i do mean it. please stay. please.” he catches makes eye contact with zayn, his own big and vulnerable. harry begs, even though the zayn part of his mind yells out _leave, leave, leave, love me or leave._

zayn is harry's anchor, and harry doesn't know if he can take floating away just yet(but he really wants to be able to) harry wonders a lot, if his love for zayn is only temporary; if it's just fog that'll leave once a brighter sun comes about. he wonders if zayn just has chameleon love, a love that blends with harry's because it's not sure how to behave if someone sees it. he wonders if zayn would have come back, regardless of his promise. and he's starting to think, that he wouldn't have wanted him to.

doesn't really want him to come back. he needs a new anchor, maybe he thinks. this one has too many chips that it doesn't want fixed, and one day it's going to break away before he's prepared for it.

  
  


iv.

it happens again and they both wish they could say they didn't see it coming, but they've told so many lies before,that it's about time for a little change.

it's after a small party the pair hosted, with fifteen attendants at the most. pure, innocent fun was the goal. a bit of fifa, chips, crisps that were picked through, and then(of course) caroline just _had_ to bring a couple bottles of wine. the group all laughed(besides harry) in thanks when she sat it down, **prophesizing** that fun didn't have a definition without it. eventually the gang dissipated, leaving harry and a very disoriented zayn to tidy up.

“zayn, come on. stop playing and help.” he yelled without intent from his place in the kitchen. zayn ignored him for some while, the words jumbling up in his brain from having to decide which activity to focus on. he chose his outdated game of fifa. he sighed heavily as he threw down the controller after the game had ended- a game he lost no doubt, but the darn thing was out to get him anyways- and decided to at least pick up what he drank out of. soda pop bottles scattered around the loveseat and red plastic cups being thrown into rubbish bags create a rhythm in zayn's head. _bit, bang, bop, bit, bang, bop, pop._ the make-shift tune causes a thought in zayn's head.

  
  


“hey, harry?”

harry picks his head away from the cupboard where he was replacing plates he'd just washed.

“yes?”

“do you love me?” zayn asks, eyes squinted in concentration, in search of something he knows he won't find. harry pales slightly, the suddenness of the question pausing his thought process for a bit. it's a question he himself had been avoiding for weeks, since the last incident, and to hear it out loud just brings his doubts to surface. he swallows roughly, nerves hyper-sensitive by tension pricking at his skin. he can feel the bob of his adam's apple with more clarity than usual. not that he pays attention to every time he swallows, it's just that you know when something in your body is off---

“well harry?” he's snapped out of barely-there thoughts, unable to form anything coherent while he keeps zayn's heavy gaze. maybe if he would have looked away, his words would have been chosen with more care.

“i. i wish i didn't, but yes. i do love you.”

“okay.” zayn nods his head a bit, as if the answer is final. “but why do you not _want_ to love me?”

harry takes a deep breath, with eyes wide open. “i don't want to love you because you're incapable of returning the feeling. you can't even love yourself.” words seem to be tumbling out without harry's consent.

“and what makes you think, that i don't love myself?”

“the fact that you can't go an hour without downing a pint to get out of your own head.” harry claims, the conversation continuing at a calm pace, but his words still hit zayn with meaning, and in an earsplitting manner. there's no way to joke their way out of this now, which leaves that much more room for the downfall of something that never had a real chance.

“so that makes me an invalid then? “ zayn asks without looking for an answer. harry gives him one anyway.

“no that makes you selfish and stupid and wavering in your words, zayn.” harry will no longer meet his eyes, fear of seeing the existence of something that might make him back down in this newly found fight. he _knows it's there,_ sitting in honey colored windows to something that used to be a soul to beautiful things harry had never known before. the impression of hurt will be there and demeanor that promises repair that never comes; he knows it all too well.

zayn stands from his knees in front of the coffee table, but makes no advances forward.

“but, but harry. it makes me better. makes us better, even. lets you and i break down walls, i know it does.”

“you're right zayn, to a point.” harry's tone is getting harder with each word and he begs in his mind for it to cease, but a presume deep inside him tells him that he deserves this. harry deserves to get angry. “does break down walls, the only problem is there's no point in talking to you then, because you won't remember it in the morning! it's hard to love a person who only wants to be held when they can't walk by their own strength!” he's yelling now, a fire like anger spreading through his veins.

“for god sakes harry, i'm trying!” zayn slightly screams back, he's not sure why he's angry but harry's angry, so it just makes sense to go along with him.

“no you're not! you're not trying at all. i've begged, fucking _begged_ zayn, for you to slow down and you act like you don't even here me. you don't try at anything besides sleeping with someone that spreads wide enough.”

“things like this shouldn't bother you though, harry!”

“why not?”

zayn is red faced now, liquid courage running hot through his blood. “you don't have the right, is why.”

harry scoffs in disbelief. “i don't have the right to feel hurt, but you have the right to beat my door down every other night?”

“yes. just like you have the right to not let me in!”

zayn walks towards the counter top, a brick of low granite separating the two. zayn's getting bolder, and stupider in harry's opinion. to zayn he's just defending what he's owed.

“you make no sense anymore! how much did you actually have to drink?!” his hands flail around as he talks.

zayn doesn't miss a beat. “this isn't easy for me you know?” tempers are rising.

“what isn't easy? s'not easy to leave your common sense and morals at the bottom of a bottle? hard life definitely.”

zayn's words are fuzzy when they leave his mouth, resolve wearing and caving in on itself. “no, harry you just don't--”

“i don't what?” his eyes are teary again, an occurrence he's used to when the cause is zayn. he slinks down to his elbows to the cool rock beneath him, hands that have ran through his hair making curls fluffy and fucked out. “are you trying to say..that i don't understand what it's like to a second option after the first hundred have been chosen? i don't know what it feels like to be trapped in your own body? is that what you're trying to say zayn? because i know, i know exactly. but i take others into consideration as well, my first thought isn't to run away from reality and leave the rest behind clueless.” tears still sparkle his eyes but he refuses to give them the satisfaction of freedom, not until he has it himself.

“no harry. you don't understand what it's like to fall back on nothing. to be so used to hitting the ground it starts to feel like a cloud.” his screams have died down, the force being too much at this point.

“you do have something to fall back on zayn. you have me! you know that!”

zayn laughs humorlessly before he answers. “no i don't harry. you don't even have yourself. the only time you're dependable is when everyone around you is completely wrecked, you panic, you become afraid and do whatever you kind of think is right, mate. that's the only time you want to be there for me. and i can only get that one way.”

“that's not true and you know it.” harry's voice level is lower, but his tone no less softer.

zayn stares at harry disbelievingly, of what he's not can't pinpoint, but he knows that this is wrong, out of character. harry should be putting him to bed by now, telling him that it'll all be okay when the sun comes up. that, sunrises mean new beginnings, and that they'll start over everyday if that's what it takes.

harry doesn't _argue_.

“harry can't we just..let's watch some tv or something. forget this happened yeah?”

it's harry's time to roll his eyes. zayn's so predictable it's funny at times. only he would blow off his own feelings.

“please.” it's not sarcastic, it's a real plea. a plea for zayn to somehow realize what he wants, what he _needs_ to happen for him to be happy. he doesn't think he'll ever be able to force the words out of his mouth.

“i'm serious, harry. we can just lay back on the couch or.. or--”

“please, please stop.” the words struggle to glide around the lump in his throat.

“i don't... i can't.” neither of them know what they want to say or what they want to hear but the fact that _somethinganythingjustnotnothing_ has to happen is fresh in similarities.

harry walks around the counter to stand on side of zayn, his eyes set on the small wooden door.

“do you love me?” the question is low and soft, surrounded by hesitation and fear.

“....i don't know. i can't name what i feel. i'm not even sure i want to.” the pair are both facing forwards a destination that they both knew was close literally two feet away.

“you can..you can leave. i won't hold it against you. people..they out grow each other. whether they want to or not.”

“but we haven't harry. i know we haven't.”

harry sighs. “i know, 'cause we never grew, not together. i..”

“i won't come back. i mean i might, if you want me to--”

“i don't.” harry turns his head towards zayn, making eye contact after a while.

he'll miss this, but he thinks, he might just make it.

“i love you, zayn.” he breathes out, tears almost breaching. zayn just smiles and harry pulls him by the back of his hair to peck his lips. _the last one,_ harry thinks.

zayn's back is rigid as it moves away, his hand is agile on the knob and the small click of the lock echoes through harry's skull. he makes it five seconds.

then, then he allows them freedom. they deserve it too.

**Author's Note:**

> this is poorly proofread.  
> the lack of capitalization and overuse of italics is purposely done.


End file.
